It tore her apart. "You are my prisoner. The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire. It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again. “You may call anytime. Ruth went on to explain. So I made haste and recovered. " "It may be; but if it shortens the distance and lightens the journey, I care not," retorted the widow, who seemed by this reproach to be roused into sudden eloquence. To be alone with her, in idleness, was an intolerable thought.
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